


Flowers of the Gods

by FirenzeSun



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Anal Sex, I won't tell you which one, Jaskier is a Greek God, M/M, another reunion fic, but take a guess, but this time with a different premise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:47:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22190551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirenzeSun/pseuds/FirenzeSun
Summary: "I'm not monster," Jaskier said nervously, pressing forward against the knife. "See, silver, nothing.""Then, what are you?" Geralt growled not relenting."Put the knife down, and I'll tell you my story." When Geralt didn't relent, it was Jaskier's turn to be exasperated. "Come on, did I ever give you reason to believe I wished you harm?"Geralt stepped back with a growl. "Tell me everything."Jaskier adjusted back his rumpled clothes. "So, what do you know about Greek gods?"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 117
Kudos: 1393





	Flowers of the Gods

**Author's Note:**

> _"Would that I could die for thee, Hyacinthus!" cried the god, his god's heart near breaking. "I have robbed thee of thy youth. Thine is the suffering, mine the crime. I shall sing thee ever—oh perfect friend! And evermore shalt thou live as a flower that will speak to the hearts of men of spring, of everlasting youth—of life that lives forever."_

Some loves, some lovers, you just don't get over. So after too much heartbreak, too much loss, you pick a new land, new stories, new faces. So he picked a flower, he had always been fond of them. Yellow to remind him of what he would give up. He left the lyre behind and begun the journey.

A new world. A new opportunity.

.

Jaskier needed a muse. Songs worked better when there was someone to inspire you. So he followed Providence into the small pub in a small town of ungrateful listeners.

He saw him in a corner. Saw his brooding stare and broad shoulders. He had known then, with the certainty of the Path, that he had met his muse.

.

For some artists muses are platonic. You idolize them and love them from afar, otherwise you might taint them. But Jaskier had always found those artists boring and their art lacking. How can art reflect life when the artist doesn't know what life is. The artist must live, must love and hate, must rejoice and suffer. The artist has to tangle with their muse, has to become one.

True art requires you to go deep in the mud, to enter the belly of the beast -well, maybe not literally Jaskier thought as he saw the elemental Geralt was fighting-, and you let your muse claw at your heart until it bleeds, while you taint them with your blood, a mark for all to see.

So Jaskier didn't stop his heart from falling for Geralt, his Witcher.

"You smell of heartbreak," he had said, and wow, he couldn't wait to see all the wonderful stories he would write.

He just hadn't thought that early on, that he would have to be the deliverer. It hadn't been his job back then. But now Plot or Destiny or however you wanted to call it, required him to be a tool in it.

He didn't know what surprise awaited them at Queen Calanthe's party, but he was sure it'd be a big one. He bathed Geralt, and didn't let his fingers linger too much while he rubbed the camomile oil onto his muscle. The homoerotism of the situation enough to fuel his songs for years. But it wouldn't do to scare his muse away so he didn't push forward. Just enough to convince him to go to the party with him.

In there, Destiny awaited in a way Jaskier couldn't have predicted. But it was surely making out to be a great plot, a wonderful story whose layers he still couldn't fully perceive, but knew they were deep and full of meaning.

.

Sometimes the Plot sucked.

He _knew_ Geralt was not meant for him. That a great love interest was waiting for him, a love interest that was powerful and strong and _heterosexual_ -Gods, who was writing this story. So Jaskier endured the pain and called Geralt his friend, even when that seemed like a bit too much for the Witcher. Sometimes he took breaks, to get adventures on her own and get lost in women. He mostly stayed away from men, too much pain there.

So when he found Geralt again on the Path. Well, he had never thought he would be the reason why Geralt would meet _her._

So, yes, the Plot sucked.

More than the djinn attacking him was knowing where all of this lead. Jaskier could do nothing but follow the motions. He knew better however than to fight it. The story had to be told and fighting would only mean you reached your Point B more hurt and broken.

He still pleaded to him, one last chance, one desperate attempt. But of course it was futile.

"She saved your life, Jaskier," Geralt told him and even though he didn't had a tumor in his throat, Jaskier had a different sort of lump.

.

He hated her, there were not two ways around it. He hated her and he was afraid of her. He knew what jealous lovers could do, so if before he couldn't pursue Geralt -probability of reciprocity nowhitstanding-, now even less. Geralt deserved to be cherished and admired, and she didn't do that. She took him for granted and used him.

Jaskier, however, all he had where a couples of quips at her expense, and he swallowed all of the rest.

It surprised him, how he didn't see this one coming.

"Damn it, Jaskier! Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it's you, shoveling it?" Geralt shouted at him.

"Well, that's not fair," Jaskier said in a thin voice. He was only the deliverer, sometimes, he was not the actual storyteller.

"The Child Surprise, the djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands."

"Right," Jaskier said, his heart breaking. "Right, then," he accepted as the pieces of his heart fell to the floor. "I'll- I'll go get the rest of the story from the others. See you around, Geralt."

How had he not seen that this was where his part in this story would end. That his heart was meant to break much more sooner than expected. Fate laughed at him even here.

He left his lute at the base of the mountain. He had lost his Muse, he didn't need it anymore.

.

He had traveled, drank and fucked. He had cried. He had sung because that's what he knew how to do. He had gotten a citole to replace the lute. He had not composed any more, nor had he sung any songs about the Witcher, despite demand. He had only sang borrowed songs with no spirit.

He had little coin, but he did not need to eat much this days.

One day, he got a feeling, and an all familiar stirring. His stomach being pulled by invisible strings.

Plot, again.

He cursed, but still dragged his feet to the forgotten pub in Heatherton. He asked for some ale with the last coin, he had.

"Hey, aren't you the Jaskier guy?" a patron asked.

"I am," Jaskier agreed with a wary smile. Glad to be recognized, but too tired to rejoice in it.

"I've heard you near Toussaint, like six years ago. Why don't you play that Witcher song."

He wasn't a bad guy. He had asked nicely, and seemed genuine. But to Jaskier it felt like being forced to drink lead.

"I don't sing those songs anymore," he said, his smile gone.

"You don't?" asked surprised a voice Jaskier knew too well.

Jaskier cursed again under his breath. He was expecting it, of course, but it didn't change the fact that he wanted to forget.

"There's no point in a story with no ending," Jaskier sighed turning to Geralt.

Geralt approached him, carrying his drink and leaving it on the seat next to him in the bar. He didn't know if it was the time apart, or if Geralt really was standing too close to him.

"Please, do not tell me _now_ that you liked them," Jaskier huffed.

"You look different," was what Geralt actually said.

Jaskier had gotten careless. He had let things slip through, his hair was lighter for instance, bothering on blonde. His clothes were not on their best state, he had long since stop caring on such things.

"Alright, I might not have had the best of lucks lately getting coin. But there's no need to rub it on my face," he deflected.

"No, it's not that- it's-" Geralt trailed off, his witcher eyes searching something on Jaskier's face.

"Well, let's finish our drinks before they get warm."

Geralt hummed, sat next to him and took back his drink. But his eyes kept appraising Jaskier.

"What?" he asked uncomfortable. "Now you're going to say that you missed me."

"I did," Geralt answered, surprising Jaskier. "Is it really that hard to believe? You're my friend."

Jaskier sighed. "I am having a hard time believing it. But you can't reproach me for it, you gave me ample reason to doubt that you cared about me."

"You thought we would have traveled together for so long if I didn't enjoy your company?" Geralt said pissed.

Jaskier drank several mouthfuls. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe yes, you truly wanted me around. But you have also been mean with me on plenty occasions. Enough that it was easy to twist around every kind gesture into one out of pity or disdain. And there's also that other thing."

"What other thing?"

"Destiny, Geralt. The way our paths crossed has been too coincidental for it to be otherwise. So I couldn't help but wonder, did you put up with me because you wanted to, or because you had to?"

Geralt raised from his seat. "I have to show you something."

Jaskier followed him no questioning him further, trusting him as he had always done. Geralt took him to where Roach was standing. He searched around in his saddle, and presented to Jaskier the last thing he expected to see again.

In his hand, Geralt was holding his lute.

The wood was polished, and it clearly had been taken care of. Only the strings showed wear from unuse. Jaskier looked at Geralt gapping.

"Did you kept this for three years?"

"I regretted what I said as soon as I calmed down. I went after you, but I only found this. You scared me, you would have never leave this behind. You loved this. I searched for any signs of a struggle, but when I didn't find any, I understood why you left it behind. I picked it up, intending to give it back to you when I first saw you. I asked around in all the towns around that damned mountain, and nobody could give me an answer."

"I didn't want you to find me," Jaskier said, voice still thin.

"I thought as much," Geralt said, extending his hand so Jaskier would grab the lute. He didn't say how scared he had been when Jaskier had been untraceable, even to his Witcher senses. Until after months of searching, he had to give up and go to get Ciri.

"Thank you." Jaskier grabbed it with trembling hands.

He stared at it for a long time, until he looked up back at Geralt. A small smile, the ones that were reserved for a few, adorned his lips. Then he saw a small tremble in it, and the subtle, unnoticeable to anybody else, tug his body did when he moved.

"You're hurt," Jaskier said, cold in his voice, he hated seeing him hurt even when it was small and he would heal.

"It's nothing," Geralt grunted.

Jaskier rolled his eyes, but then his voice got soft. "Please, let me take care of it."

Geralt glared at him, but relented. "Alright, I have a room at the inn."

Once in the room, Jaskier carefully left his new found lute and his, not so new, citole, in a corner. Meanwhile, Geralt had undressed, taken out all of his upper clothes. The damage wasn't much. A giant bruise was forming on his left side, and the skin was scraped by the very same armor that had protected him.

"It's not much, but let me apply some salve."

"You, and your camomile," Geralt said exasperated, but fondly.

Jaskier rummaged through Geralt's sack to get the oil. He used to keep it in his own bag, but he had had no need for it in the past three years. He then applied plenty of it into his hand, and rubbed it on Geralt's body, who sighed of relief.

It seemed like the old days, Jaskier tending for Geralt, while the low hum of homoerotism surrounded them. Until Geralt tensed, and suddenly he was gripping his wrist firmly, strong enough that it would hurt a human.

"I never got infected when you tended me," Geralt stated, "and I almost never scarred."

Jaskier said nothing, he didn't even flinch. He knew it was telling, but he also knew it would come when Geralt first saw him today.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked, tightening the hold of his hand.

Jaskier sighed.

Suddenly, he was against a wall, the silver dagger Geralt carried in his boot next to his neck.

"What are you?"

"I'm not monster," Jaskier said nervously, pressing forward against the knife. "See, silver, nothing."

"Then, what are you?" Geralt growled not relenting.

"Put the knife down, and I'll tell you my story." When Geralt didn't relent, it was Jaskier's turn to be exasperated. "Come on, did I ever give you reason to believe I wished you harm?"

Geralt stepped back with a growl. "Tell me everything."

Jaskier adjusted back his rumpled clothes. "So, what do you know about Greek gods?"

"Those are just tales, none of them, nor their monsters, crossed over."

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him.

"Fuck," Geralt cursed. "Which one are you?"

With one deep breath for bravery, Jaskier let go of the barriers. His hair went fully blonde, and he was glowing, though no physical light was present. Beyond his hair, there was no alterations to his body, but somehow he now looked more beautiful than ever. Not that he wasn't beautiful before, but each aspect of his body now exuded a beauty that was breathtaking and frightening.

"I was once called Apollo."

"Fuck."

"Why don't you sit and I'll tell you everything," Jaskier said, and it was like a light suddenly disappearing, leaving Geralt disy. His hair went back to being brunette, and his beauty was no longer dangerous.

"This better be a good tale," Geralt threatened, but he sat on the edge of the bed.

"It is," affirmed Jaskier sitting on the other end of the bed. "Well, maybe. It is my tale, though. So, how much do you know about us?"

"The basics," Geralt admitted, his shoulder still tense sitting before this creature. Now Jaskier looked as he had always done, a mortal simple human. But Geralt didn't forget how foreign he had felt, that much power in a single place. "We didn't have to fight them, so we didn't study them. But I've heard a few songs."

Jaskier smiled sheepishly. "Well, I'm glad some of them reached your ears."

"You- of course, you did." Geralt said. Those were some of the first tales humanity had heard. Many believed humans had carried those stories from their original world, but here was Jaskier claiming ownership of them. "You're the patron of music."

"And medicine," Jaskier said pointing to Geralt's now fully healed side.

"So all of the times I saved your sorry ass and I took damage for you, was what? A divine test? For nothing?" Geralt said with anger.

"Think about it for a moment, will you? I am a god of a complete different world. With a different set of rules. My powers are very limited here. I do not longer control the sun, nor the prophecies, nor-"

In a fast movement, Jaskier was on his back on the bed, Geralt over him with a hand around his neck. Not crushing him yet, but applying enough pressure to convey the threat.

"So I was right? It was you with the shovel with shit all this time?" he growled, saliva drops falling into Jaskier face.

"Please, I said prophecies, not fate. I didn't control the Fates back home, and even less here," Jaskier eyes glowed with divine fury. "The Fates had me burying lovers and friends, sons and daughters. Even when I plead directly to them, and all I had in return for my lost loves were flowers or trees. I was one of the most important Gods and I couldn't even save my children. So don't talk to me about how unfair Fate is, it's a story I know to well."

Geralt hand softened on Jaskier's neck. He had Ciri now, and just the fought of having to mourn her one day turned his stomach. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Jaskier said their eyes returning to normal.

Geralt was still lying over Jaskier. It seemed like it took a few seconds for the Witcher to realize their positions, but even when he did, he didn't move.

"I-"

"I should finish telling you my story," Jaskier said looking away, breaking the moment that had formed. He kept staring away, not wanting to know if disappointment crossed Geralt's face or not.

"A Hacynth flower and a Laurel tree, that's what I've got for my two biggest loves," Jaskier said when he was once again sitting on the bed, Geralt at his side. The space between their bodies like an abysm. "But that wasn't even the worst part, the worst part was when I knew what would happen. When I saw were the string of the Fates were pulling and I couldn't do anything to prevent it."

Jaskier was looking at the floor, he did not look like a God, but as a battered soul. Geralt would have felt pity, but this was a being who could endure the worst pains of life and keep going.

"I tried fighting the Plot of the story being told. I tried directly rebelling against it, I tried being clever, being creative. But all the time, what had to happen happened, but in the worst possible way. Sometimes all the reason it happened was a consequence of all the actions I took to prevent it. So I've learned my lesson, you accept where Destiny, Fate, the Plot, or however you want to call it takes you."

"But one day I couldn't stand it anymore, and I saw my chance. I could get away and start anew. Maybe in a new world the Fates would be kinder. It was an off chance, but I had to try it. I gave my chariot back to Helios and I came here. I tried to live as a mortal, mainly, because I had had my share of epic stories, maybe as a mortal I could find peace."

Geralt had said nothing, not even a hum of acknowledgement, but he did make a sound at that. "Then why did you seek my company? I'm the opposite of a quiet life."

"Several reasons. I've learned that the lives of mortals are filled with as much tragedy as the lives of Gods. I missed some of what I was once, that's why I chose this current name. Because I was lonely. And well, because of Fate too."

"I have to ask what you asked me. Did you even wanted my company?" Geralt said, not bothering to hide the edge of hurt from his voice.

Jaskier looked up to him. "Of course, I did. Do you- do you love your Surprise Child?"

"I do."

"Then why should it be different for me just because Fate was what selected you for me."

The unspoken confession lied silently between the two of them.

"So why didn't you trust me? Were you afraid I would treat you like a monster?" Geralt asked, his voice almost a whisper.

"No, I- I've spent too much time hiding. It was safer too. I don't know if somebody from my world followed me, and I have my fair share of enemies who would love their chance against a weakened god. But mainly, I was afraid of tempting Fate too much. I buried too many people."

"Did you know everything that would happen?" Geralt was looking at the floor too, but Jaskier was looking directly at him now.

"I can't read Fate as I did before. Like I said, different world, different rules. I merely know when something or someone is related to it. I knew when I met you that you were gonna be it. I knew we had to be a Queen Calanthe's party. I knew before the djinn attacked me that something important was going to happen. But I barely know the what anymore, even less the why."

Jaskier's voice was soft and tired, so tired.

"And you let it happen because…"

"Because I was afraid of what horrors fighting Fate would bring, yes," he admitted.

Geralt looked at him again. "Then why didn't you insist I went for Ciri earlier?"

"Because no matter what, I will always respect whatever free will you have. I'll never force you, Geralt."

Unexpectedly, a smile tugged Geralt's lips. "You did force me to hear all of your songs."

"Asshole," Jaskier replied, a smile on his lips too.

"I'm sorry, though, for pushing you away," Geralt said earnestly, his yellow eyes shining softly.

"I gathered as much," Jaskier said looking at the lute in the corner of the room.

"Where does this leave us?"

"I'd still love to be your companion for as long as you'll have me. I missed my Muse."

"Only that?" Geralt asked, bringing to the front Jaskier's early confession.

"Geralt-" Jaskier said pained, tears appeared in his eyes. "I think you should know the story of Hyacinth."

"I had had my share of experiences back then, but when I met him they all seemed irrelevant. I had only loved like that once, and that had been Cupid's arrow. But with him, it was natural, or at least so it seemed. He was-" Jaskier looked at Geralt, who didn't miss the way his eyes trailed his naked chest. "He was gorgeous, of course. But most importantly, we could talk about everything and anything. I spent as much as I could with him. It was- perfect."

"Alas, I wasn't the only one interested in him. Zephyr, God of the West Wind, had also tried to pursue him. So, one day, jealous that I was the sole captor of Hacynth's attention he blew the discus we were playing with right back at his face." Jaskier's breath hiccuped. "He died in my arms, Geralt, and I tried everything I knew, every single healing skill I had, all of my knowledge. But the Fates had decided, so I had to watch him die. All I could do to preserve a memory of him was to create a flower."

The tears were falling freely from his face. "I'm not willing to tempt fate again, Geralt. I can't."

Geralt wanted to comfort Jaskier. Seeing his friend in so much pain hurt him more than any monster could. "Why should the story repeat itself in a different world?" he said softly.

"There's Yennefer," Jaskier said, his eyes begging Geralt to understand.

"She's helping me with Ciri, but we're not together. Not anymore." He moved closer to him.

"She could still, maybe not intentionally, but if she gets jealous, she could- just- just let me be your friend, please. But don't ask more of me, I can't."

"Jaskier. Apollo," Geralt said. Jaskier's eyes shot up upon hearing his godly name on Geralt's lips. His eyes glowed with the force of the brightest sky. His resolve was trembling. "I don't want us to fight the Destiny that got us together. I've learned my lesson too."

Jaskier's defenses fell like Troy, like Cintra. He surged forwarded capturing Geralt's lips in a deep passionate kiss, wet from the rain of his eyes. It was intense, two souls slotting perfectly together, in recognition and rejoice.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Jaskier cried as he kissed Geralt's jaw, convinced he had doomed his friend to an early death.

"Don't be, please, don't be," Geralt begged him, kissing him back. "I pushed you away because I was afraid. Afraid you'd get hurt. Don't make my same mistake, please."

Tears streamed copiously from Jaskier's eyes. "Geralt, I- I love you."

"I've missed you so much," Geralt confessed kissing him again. Geralt's hands went to undress Jaskier needing to feel him. To bask in the fact that he was back at his side, that he was alive and that he would be alive for a long time.

After his breeches were discarded, Geralt climbed over Jaskier's naked glory, bracketing him with his legs and aligning their cocks together. They both cursed and begun a sinuous dance, just feeling one another. Geralt couldn't stop kissing, he had heard of ambrosia, the food of the gods, and he wondered if that's what he was tasting or if the divine taste was all Jaskier.

Geralt moaned. "J- How-?"

"Call me Jaskier. I'm Jaskier. Your Jaskier," he said kissing the skin of his neck while he blindly reached for the chamomile oil that he had left on the night table.

"Do you-?"

"Please," Geralt said and Jaskier had never heard a more beautiful song.

He oiled his fingers and with lingering touches he did the path between Geralt's virility and the cavern Jaskier wanted to pledge worship to. He sank his fingers slowly, despite Geralt's pleas to rush. He looked at those yellow eyes like the sun he missed carrying, eclipsed by lust and adoration.

"Please," Geralt begged again and Jaskier couldn't resist it any longer.

When Geralt slowly descended on his cock, Jaskier felt his soul sing a melody it hadn't sang in millenia. Geralt's fingers dig into his back as he rode him in a way that would have hurt a human, but he was not a human. Neither of them were. Jaskier was glowing again, unable to rein in the flow of emotion cursing through him like a flood from a vengeful god.

Here he was, this beautiful, powerful man, impaling himself over and over again on the cock of a lying runaway god. He let himself be open and vulnerable in a way very few had the opportunity to see. It was a blessing he wouldn't pass, Jaskier would worship this man for a long as he could. His hands surrounded his waist, his back as they sat together on a bed in a room in the middle of nowhere.

Geralt groaned and moaned next to his ear, and Jaskier thought he wouldn't need any music again as long as he could keep hearing this. "Geralt, Geralt, you feel so good, fuck," he cried in a way gods aren't supposed to cry.

"Jaskier," Geralt growled. "I'm never letting you go again," he punctuated each word pushing down hard on Jaskier's cock.

"I'm close," Jaskier whispered, his hands grabbing Geralt's hair and tugging.

Geralt let his head fall back and accelerated the pace on Jaskier's back in a deep guttural moan. He painted Jaskier stomach and chest with his release and triggered Jaskier's own. He then moved his head forward, letting it fall on Jaskier's shoulder while they recovered his breath.

"I'm relieved you're a God," Geralt confessed after a while, his breath on Jaskier's neck. "It means you can be at my side for longer. I won't have to watch you get old when I don't."

"You might have to," Jaskier said, but there was a smile on his lips. "And after I die of old age, you might happen to start dating my new young son, that nobody knew I had but nobody's surprised about. I'm thinking of calling him Dandelion."

"You're insufferable," Geralt chuckled, kissing his neck.

"I won't have to hide that I heal your wounds. I hate watching you bleed," Jaskier said a bit more serious.

"Lucky me. I don't only have my own personal bard, but also my personal healer."

"You have me, yes."

"And you, me," Geralt said and sealed it with a kiss.

From the promise, a string of magic was let loose that neither man noticed. The string floated away as a feather in the wind, until it disappeared into a corner of reality.

In a different world, three old ladies crackled, while holding two golden strings of destiny. The one that belonged to Apollo, and the one belonging to Hacynth.

**Author's Note:**

> The citole is a string instrument that's shaped like a Holly lead and therefore seemed fitting. I hope you guys liked it.


End file.
